


What's Another Bruise?

by spellitwithyourpeas



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (sorry), Angst, Gen, frank's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellitwithyourpeas/pseuds/spellitwithyourpeas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had she looked up, she might have seen him. He could imagine the scene-her blue eyes wide as she recognized him, not in anger, merely surprise. He’d glance at the damp patch on her blouse and mumble an apology. Not that he needed to, but because it gave him something to apologize for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Another Bruise?

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the anonymous tumblr word prompt "irony"  
> I was going for some situational irony ;)

It had been three years since he’d last seen her and even then it had been from a distance. She had been easy to spot in the crowd below. The flash of blond hair.

Karen Page stood when others had cowered on the pavement. He had always liked her tenacity. The ‘take no bullshit’ attitude and if he was being honest, it was rare to meet someone who didn’t avoid his gaze.

And now? He couldn’t even look her in the eye. Wouldn’t even cross the street to meet her. It seemed wrong, leaning against the brick wall and watching her as she sat at a small coffee shop reading the paper.

Probably critiquing her own work. A wry smile accompanied the thought.

He didn’t mind Chicago. It appeared that she didn’t either. It’d been her new home for the past three years and the time did her good it seemed. She wasn’t as thin as the last time he’d seen her and she looked content.

That was good. Yeah, that was good. 

That night on the roof never changed anything between them, despite how much he expected it to. Despite how much he’d hoped-

Scratch that.

Anyway, he’d thought she’d chase after him. It’d only fit the pattern she’d established in the little time they’d known each other. Maybe he even got a little sloppy along the way, but he never got the sense that she was following his trail.

She just stopped. Like he’d asked.

And then she disappeared.

 It nearly scared the shit out of him seeing her apartment empty.  But in the seconds it took him to sweep across the small space, he realized that empty meant deserted. Of her own accord.

Had it been ransacked? The panic might not have settled.

But there weren’t any overturned book cases, no signs of a struggle. Just space. Walls bare except for the holes from the framed photographs she had hanging.

The only trace of Karen Page still in the room was the shade of yellow on the walls.

That’s when Red told him. She was gone. Took an offer from her editor’s contact over in Chicago. Left nothing behind in Hell’s Kitchen save for the new address she gave to her friend-the other lawyer.

It made him laugh. She fucking did it. Put the damn shit hole in the rear view and moved on. He didn’t need to ask why. Why the hell not? She’d been through more than he knew and it didn’t seem like she had any real ties to the place anyway. 

Even if she did, it’s not like he knew her well enough to have the answer.

He hadn’t followed her a few years too late to mess up the new life she had built for herself.  He wasn’t even going to approach her.

He was here out of loyalty and to clean up after the shit stains that followed her from New York. He had heard whispers back in the city. Not her name outright. Rather, details that started adding up over time- spinning the compass needle in her direction and that made him weary.

He’d even admit it made him nervous for her when he found out Fisk was the one paying the fuckers to look into her.

She didn’t need to know. Didn’t need to be roped back in to the sort of shit that made her leave in the first place.

He saw her check her watch and pack up in a hurry, knocking over the not yet empty  mug in the flurry of movement. She raced out the door and down the street, all the while furiously wiping at her blouse.

Had she looked up, she might have seen him. He could imagine the scene-her blue eyes wide as she recognized him, not in anger, merely surprise. He’d glance at the damp patch on her blouse and mumble an apology. Not that he needed to, but because it gave him something to apologize for.

Her voice would be light, but firm. In a tone as commanding as he remembered, she would ask “What the hell are you doing here Frank?”

They’d stand on the edge of the sidewalk, in the shadows of the old brick building towering above them and he’d explain. Fuck he’d tell her anything she wanted to know, just to hear her question him more. To see her brows, pinch together as she pieced together the information he gave her.

Who knows how long they’d talk. He wouldn’t have minded it though.

But she didn’t look up and he didn’t run after her.

He did, however, follow the man who had been tailing her. It didn’t take long for him to extract the information he needed. More details to a larger picture being painted almost 800 miles away. A bigger war than he thought. She’d be safe, for now. When he gets back to the city, he’ll end it once and for all.

Karen would never know that her death had been planned that night. That, had he not been there, a stranger would have been waiting for her when she returned home.

The man died afraid. The sight of him, quaking in his last moments, gave him a sick satisfaction that twisted in his gut. These kinds of guys deserved to know. Deserved to know how it felt to be afraid.

He stuck around in the city for a few day as a precaution, but there were no signs of trouble. Parked down the street, he watched her slide her keys into the door of her small home. The neighborhood suited her. There were flowers planted in her front yard. Maria had always liked planting flowers in Spring.

Leaving was harder than he thought it would be. He ran from the part of himself that wanted to knock on her door. There was a point when he came close to it. 

The door of his truck open, and one foot hanging out.

He quickly sat back in his seat, closing his door when her front door opened. A man, young, good looking greeted her with a kiss and ushered her through the entry way.

There wasn’t a lot that surprised him anymore, but the scene that played out before him-like a goddamn movie- certainly did.

One key factor that he had missed. (A pretty big one too). Guess he had always been watching from too far away to spot the ring on her finger. 

(Or maybe he just wasn’t looking one).

Goddamn assumptions. Didn’t matter. She and hers were safe in the meantime. 

She would always be a bruise that never healed. Not really painful, just a lingering sensitivity blooming underneath his skin. He’d press into the purple in hopes the sensation would bring back the memory of her.

It left him feeling hollow and so goddamn tired.

He’d let go in time. 

In the end, what’s another bruise?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://lightofpage.tumblr.com/)


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